At the Border (and In-Between)
by Zing-baby
Summary: Alistair and his love had devised a plan to rendezvous when they could. He'd thought after the fall of Corypheus, he'd be able to return to her side permanently. If she doesn't make it this time... (Post DA:I, Pre-Trespasser, so no spoilers for it. Vague elf warden so you can envision your own. Clearly marked and easily avoidable Rated M sexual content. But discretion advised.)
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Dragon Age, or any of its associated characters or properties.**

* * *

 **At the Border (and In-Between)**

 **I**

The sound of Alistair's boots as he trudged deeper into the glen could barely be heard over the hum of insects. With a grumble he swatted away a cloud of gnats when his clad food trampled their grassy nest. A few more steps, and a duck under a branch, and he got past them and into the thinning trees beyond. He sought a small place; an isolated safehouse on the border of Orlais, and the unknown West. He cursed the wear of his years as his body ached with each stride. He hadn't taken any time to rest, he couldn't, if he hoped to make it in time.

He refused to concede that perhaps age, or the Blight in his blood were the cause. Just as he pointedly ignored that there lie no trace of anyone else having crossed this way for months. He reasoned his love would be careful to avoid a trail, anyway.

Stubbornly, he raked his flaxen hair back to rally his energy, then pursued his destination.

He navigated the last few tricks of the trail; the fallen oak, the overgrown stones, until he rounded corner of a narrow deer path, and his eyes fell on a desolate cabin nestled deep in the grove across the way.

Alistair sighed, and the corners of his mouth sank glumly at the lack of light he'd hoped would gleam within. Still, he scanned the clearing to the entrance, then crossed to the weather-worn door.

With each footstep, growing dread that it would, again this month, be empty weighed heavy in the soles of his shoes, and his toe bitterly nudged the wood frame. A scrabble of noise within immediately sprung him to action, however. Pressing his ear to the grain, he caught the telltale slip of metal slung from a scabbard, and he leapt back.

He drew his blade quickly, face settled into a defensive snarl, and aimed his next kick near the door handle. It gave under the force, flying backward into the cabin and crashing against the wall on its hinges. Alistair peered into the darkness, the moonlight outside giving his sight a disadvantage until adjusted.

He was met with only silence. He remained, statuesque, for a few more heartbeats, and willed the intruder to make the next move, or speak. This was a secret place, a border stop; a cache long abandoned by the Wardens. Not even most the Grey knew of its existence. He dared not suspect that _she_ had made it. But wouldn't she have been expecting him, or called to him, rather than drawing weapons?

 _Could be a lost traveler, or someone injured_ , he reasoned. _Or an apostate_.

He scowled as he considered the implications, but the stillness awaiting him in the dark only set him more on edge. His quarry had patience; insisted he step through first, and he couldn't do so without playing directly into their hands.

 _What would she do?_ He wondered. What would she _want_ him to do, as his safety so often concerned her more than her own?

 _"When your only choice is to spring the trap, be unpredictable."_

The renounced prince drew his shield to the front determinedly and charged into the space with a yell. Without knowing his target, he refrained from swinging either sword, nor board. Instead he braced both against blow, and barreled to push any foe to a wall until he could identify them.

The small room inside made this entirely risky, and close quarters limited his options. He nearly raced to the back wall by the time he heard the whoosh and spin of fabric, and a cloaked figure danced from a corner. Only the blade edge glinted in the moonbeam caught his eye in time, and he met it with his own longsword. A sharp clang sounded his successful block, and he felt little resistance to his strength. In surprise, he held back, only keeping the offending edge at bay, rather than following through to strike.

Swords matched and tentatively straining, he glared into the hooded face of his combatant, finally close enough to see a small nose, and feminine lips in an amused smirk. And, in the single second he realized he knew that smile all too well, it faltered in the same realization.

"Love?" He breathed the word between them, his sword arm still raised.

The small woman sheathed her weapon first and withdrew a short step. She finally dropped back her hood, and the sight of pointed ears, and her disproportionally large round eyes, nearly broke Alistair's heart with relief. Her flecked irises sought his, and her lids brimmed, glassy. In a single moment he took in everything about her and nothing. She looked... tired, weaker, but he became instantly too flooded with emotion to notice the detail. His blade clattered to the floor, and he swung his shielded arm behind her back, crushing her cloaked body tight to his. His free hand braced and cradled her neck as he kissed her possessively.

He hadn't meant to whimper. He hadn't meant to so quickly slide his tongue into her mouth, but it felt beyond his control. He hadn't realized how afraid he'd been that he'd never be able to taste her again, and that fear drove him until she clutched at the front of his chainmail and gently pushed.

Their lips gave a soft noise as they parted, and Alistair raised his brow in concern. A wry smile from her lips greeted him, and he leaned his forehead down so she could meet him half way, which she readily did, too short to initialize such an action herself. Both his arms slipped around her and he clutched her close, to breathe her in. The aging Warden felt weak to the growing risk he would cry. He implored his heart to cease pounding.

Her reticence said so much more than any welcome might have.

He feared the reason she didn't seem to be holding him as tightly, their reunions usually a flurry of kisses and cuddles. His trepidation grew as she quaked in a shuddering deep sigh, and moved to tuck her head and face into her favorite spot in the crook of his neck. It was a position they'd spent hours in before, locked in embrace. It was then he realized she _was_ clinging to him, small hands gripped into the fabric lining his gear at his back. He just hadn't felt her. Was he losing sensitivity in his nerves? A side effect of the Calling? A sign he's closer to the end?

Alistair's stomach plummeted, and he instinctively squeezed her. He heard, and felt, her breath catch, and he realized too late she had lost weight. The elven woman had always carried the petite lines of her people, but briefly he worried his hug could break her. She wasn't just smaller, she felt... fragile. Weak. And with a continued sinking feeling, it occurred to him it was not due to _him_ that he couldn't feel her embrace through his armor.

Reluctantly, he retreated, and gently squeezed her arms under his hands as he stepped back to look at her. The flyaways of her hair framed a haggard face. A single look in her eyes and he recognized the old sparkle buried somewhere deep within, but it was muted under age and heartache.

This was not the longest after a meeting they'd gone without talking (usually because they were naked by now), but it had been too long this time, too long apart, and with a soft groan, he turned to close the door behind them.

Shadow filled the cabin, but after a few moments of deft shuffling, he caught the sight of delicate pale fingers in match-light before an oil lamp flared to life.

Alistair unbuckled his shield from his forearm, and rest it against a nearby wall. He peeled his gauntlets and gloves off as well, and dropped them atop a nearby barrel. He considered dismantling himself further, but his love, the woman he had so ached for and missed, still stood next to the lamp, her small arms folded under her cloak, watching him.

Everything came secondary to her. The cabin had so few things, the barrel, a small table with a single chair, and a bed with nightstool. The chair sat closest to her, so he strode to her and eased her to it, more mindful this time to be gentle.

"You're worrying me." He came to kneel on the floor before her. Calloused fingers found her cheek, a little more gaunt than he'd ever seen her. Her features, once nestled in gentle curves of flesh, delicate and sweet as spring, now seemed as severe as winter- sharpened by years of stress. Her eyes were sunken, her forehead and lip lines developing wrinkles, and the first few strands of silver hair flowed from her temples. He briefly wondered if it really had been recent, or he simply hadn't noticed the gradual change until they were parted for a time.

"I'm fine, I promise," she finally replied. The smooth tone of her voice soothed his spine, exhausted as it sounded. His wife sighed and leaned into his hand affectionately. "Gods, I missed you, though."

"I came." He set his second knee to the floor as well as he inched his way closer to her. "Every month, except last. I started to think..."

Her palm found his heart, and he wished his armor gone so he could feel it. "I'm sorry, Alistair. I thought I was so close for awhile there. I kept thinking if I kept going, when I next saw you, I'd have good news. I came last month but you were..." w _ith the Inquisition_. He understood. "At least they finally facilitated contact. Hearing you were okay meant the world to me," she finished.

He gave a lopsided smile and brush his thumb along her lower lip. "Yeah... I felt the same. I'm just glad you're alright."

The opportune moment to share their trails arrived, but neither reached for it. They had so much to discuss, so much to talk about. He had so many questions, and was most certain, after the Breach, that she would, too. But, right now, he found he couldn't bring himself to tear himself from their reprieve to address business.

Their separation of duty had always been hard. But as the Calling began to claw at the base of their skulls, the inevitable creeping closer, he felt himself growing more selfish, and more resentful of any lost time between them.

He refused to acknowledge that even this time was temporary- moments stolen in a desperate hope to rendezvous at the border when they could. Instead, he lovingly pressed his lips to her crown.

He couldn't label the forlorn, aching look in her round eyes when he stood, and stepped away, no matter how brief.

At the barrel, he began breaking down his armor, piece by heavy piece. It had become so familiar, he felt oddly weightless without it, like he might float away if the steel didn't provide an anchor. He groaned as he bent over to pick up the last dropped pieces, straining stiffly. He didn't even hear her light steps behind him. When he straightened, a narrow nose nuzzled between his shoulder blades, and thin fingers clutched the front of his chest.

Alistair gave a shuddering breath at the contact, finally able to feel more of her presence with his armor absent. Her hands on him, her warm breath over the linen of his undershirt, drew him back into a hundred memories, and he lolled his head back with a sigh.

His strong fingers traced her arms as he tugged them just a little tighter around him, and he felt a rewarding kiss at his spine.

"Don't leave me..."

He almost hadn't heard it. It was muttered, whispered even, into his shirt, but that made it all the sadder. He turned to her and immediately cupped her face in both hands, cradling her close as if she were sand about to slip from his grasp.

"In all we've faced together, there is nothing that could chase me from your side."

Only their duties parted them. Events that could not be ignored. But they'd already discussed and argued that as much as any couple should. They now considered it a force of nature, not a choice, and so their separation never felt voluntary.

Her long fingers gripped his sides and he fell into her gaze for a moment, seeking any other words that could push back the shadows behind her eyes.

She still wore all her gear, and her dark cape dwarfed her frame.

"Are you cold? I could get the fire going."

She nodded numbly, but when he pushed up his shirt sleeves and went for the door, he found her trailing after.

"I'll be back, you should rest."

She didn't respond, but when he stepped out into the night air, she followed, a few feet behind.

He smiled to himself. Were their places reversed he wouldn't be so ready to let her out of his sight so soon either.

They gathered branches in comfortable silence, and each time she cradled a piece to help, he took it from her wordlessly. She didn't argue this time, and they remained side by side for the few minutes it took for them to get what they needed.

Once back inside, he stacked a neat pile in the hearth, and fetched some spare paper scraps from his bag to mix with the moss they'd collected. She brought him the matches, long ago forgoing tinder and flint, and he offered her another small smile as their fingers brushed together.

He focused for a time on getting a small fire going. Such a small room needed little to heat, and he preferred not to babysit the flame. Eventually he stood, and turned in time to see the Warden Commander drape her heavy dark fabric over the back of the single chair.

He inhaled sharply at how her leather jerkin hung off her hips and sagged over her form. The lithe vixen of a cupid he'd fallen for, all gentle valleys and planes, had shrunk into little more than a bean pole. Curves disappeared around bone. He remembered to breathe again when her eyes fell on his expression, and shame flushed her face.

"Oh, Love..." His baritone cracked. He went to her, but a small hand lifted, already prepared to stop him.

"It's temporary. I'll get strong again. Just been pushing a little hard lately."

"What's going on? How...?" _How could it have gotten this bad?_ "Is it... are you in danger?"

Her guiltily downcast eyes rose to plead with him. "Haven't you been?"

He'd decided to wait before telling her about his close brush with death in the Fade. Now that he knew why someone might dodge such a question, his concern didn't sway.

"Please, let's not, right now. Let's just..." She whispered softly between them, a hand nervously running over her opposite bicep.

With one last check on the door lock, he removed his boots, and obeyed, allowing quiet to fall between them again. He could feel her eyes on him, a sensation he'd grown to crave for a decade. It was different that the lustful gaze of fresh lovers, newlyweds, or even long-parted husband and wife.

He drifted to her, like a magnet, but words did not come so easy. His hazel eyes implored her to speak, to hear the flow of her river-like voice, but his gaze was met with one of sad longing, and his purpose wavered.

Finally, his fingers reached for her, traced her arms and shoulders, then her sides, before they trekked behind her to the laces holding her leather tunic together. As usual, it took time to get the armor to comply with his demands, but unlike the flurry that usually accompanied this act, the slow progress kept him close to his love, her nearness commanding his full attention instead of dominating it.

When the ties finally gave way, it took little effort for the armor fall from her and he picked it up to set it aside.

The thin cloth she used as a barrier between the leather and her skin seemed as equally worn as she, and he spotted goosepimples rising under the lower hem of her top, and along her thighs, peeking under the short bottoms she'd donned under the jerkin's studded skirt.

Without thinking, he raised his arms over his head, taking his own shirt with it, still warm and relatively new, and pulled it down over her. She wordlessly slipped into his warmth and scent. The harsh lines of her face immediately softened a little at the comfort, then her eyes, and palms, found his chest. He stilled at the touch so long denied him, shivering a little as her small fingertips played over his chest hair.

His shirt seemed so large on her, draped over hips and thighs, and when he snaked his arms back around her, the fabric plumed in excess. Still, she at least looked more like herself.

"Hey," he upheaved the silence. "I love you," he reminded her.

Outside, the telltale plop of the first few raindrops on the tree branches officially declared them in for the night, and Alistair allowed himself a semi-content sigh. The temperature inside baked to a welcoming level, and he and his companion spent a few minutes massaging the heat into one another until they were comfortable.

"Have you eaten?" Her hand lightly squeezed his, and he grinned at the normalcy. "No, but I brought you something."

"Me too." She simpered, her lips curling.

They retrieved their goodies, and returned to exchange shy smiles and loosely bound packages. Alistair traded his, a little tattered and messily wrapped in plain paper, for the one she gave him, swaddled in fabric and tied neatly with small twine into a bow.

They shuffled to the table, and gingerly delved into their prizes. Treats had become somewhat a gifting tradition between them. They both traveled with as few personal items as possible, and food often brought such pleasant memories of the their adventures. It allowed them to share their gifts, as well, and alleviated the need to interrupt their time together for scavenging or hunting.

Within his own, Alistair found unadorned, but aromatic, pale cookies. A whiff revealed citrus lemon, and a hint of either jasmine or lavender. An unexpected combination, but his stomach rumbled in approval at the scent, rendering the biscuits certainly worth trying.

He broke off an edge and gnawed it, feeling the light, dry texture crumble into sweetness in his mouth. The lemon made his mouth water at its potency, but it was so refreshing, he blinked a couple times, more awake with every chew, and plopped the rest of the corner in his mouth.

A girlish giggle snapped him back to a bobbing head, his love's small hand covering her mouth as she looked at him. "Darling, you haven't changed at all!"

He meant to argue, but the cookie in his mouth turned his defense into a pathetic sputtering of crumbs, and he thought his elf might lose her balance with laughter. She sweetly brushed the flecks of cookie away from the side of his mouth with an amused smile. He swallowed and then kissed her thumb in thanks. He remembered now, the first time she'd done such a thing, so early in their relationship.

It felt like a lifetime ago. If she was thinking the same, she didn't say so. Instead she returned to her own package.

Alistair had never been good at cooking, and after a few years, testing the local tavern food became a decent way to spend an evening together, as their journeys led them all over Thedas. From each coast, and in almost every town, things were prepared differently. This time, however, he wanted to bring her something familiar, food for comfort, that would remind her of Ferelden. He had to time it well to get it to her before it spoiled at this distance, but it was so worth the joy in her face when she found a small roast of ram, with fingerling potatoes, carrots, and onions, all nestled together in a little paper-lined meal box. It was long cold, and a few days from irrecoverable, but she didn't seem at all disappointed. In fact she eagerly stole a soft-cooked carrot into her mouth, the smell of butter and herbs wafting to him from nearby, and a satisfied, slow smile spread across her face as she closed her eyes.

"Mmm, perfect... Tastes like home." She set the package back down and shimmied briefly in an adorable "happy food dance".

Alistair chuckled and gathered their banquet. He carried their spoils to the bed so they could both sit, him along the edge, her cross-legged atop the simple bedspread. The wood frame groaned only a moment until they settled, and he turned so they could both access each container.

He reveled in the natural tandem of sharing a meal together. Such a mild thing, but he'd grown accustomed to it being as common as daylight, and he felt sun-starved. She caught him grinning at her as she ate, and it only grew as her chewing awkwardly slowed.

"What?" She swallowed, hiding her mouth behind her hand.

He shook his head and made to return to the food, but her fingers fisted in his hair quickly hijacked that plan. He allowed himself to be yanked closer to her face, doing his best to look smug about it.

With each passing moment she'd become more familiar, and this time when she smirked, it actually reached her eyes. "Cheeky bastard."

"Thought I was a royal bastard." He dared lean closer to brush his lips over hers, just close enough to feel the subtle lift of her smile.

"A decade too late on that one, Lord Theirin."

He groaned loudly and made a great show of being wounded, covering his heart with his hand dramatically. "Oof. Don't say that name, what did I say about that name!?"

She chuckled and shifted the dwindling containers to the stool, then scooched herself behind where he sat, and slipped her legs on either side of him to brace him. Alistair felt the soft flesh of her inner calves cradle him in warmth, but she kept a small distance between their bodies, giving herself room to touch and explore his back with fingertips and lips.

He lost track of time as she traced his old scars, then silently counted the few new ones. When her fingers glanced over a still-healing rib, he flinched. He was still shirtless, but as he looked down over his stomach and ribs, idling following her fingers, he knew the marks didn't stop at the waistline. How many could he hide? How many could she?

"I guess we're old soldiers now, huh?"

He heard her scoff under her breath. "If that were true, we wouldn't have so many fresh ones."

He frowned. He wasn't so good at the self-awareness thing with his emotions, but she-

"I don't know why I keep thinking it will end someday. That was never part of the deal."

Once again, gently mumbled, but she was only saying what he couldn't. He selfishly wanted a chance for a peaceful life, too. And she was right, he had no right to expect such, even before he'd met her.

"If it were impossible, you wouldn't be doing this," he replied. "Don't tell me you're giving up."

She stilled. Even her hands paused the steady massage she had begun on his shoulders.

"No," she finally said. "Of course not. That's not an option. I just... think it's time we start being grateful that we've even gotten as much time together as we have."

Alistair didn't respond. He didn't want to. He was afraid being grateful meant he should accept their impending end, and he wasn't quite ready for that. Too strained to speak, he reached to run his fingers along the outside of her legs, down the back of her thighs as far as he could reach. She cuddled closer for him, the recognizable feel of shirt fabric against his skin returned as she pressed close and wrapped herself around him so he could reach more.

He focused on now. Now he could feel her. She had changed a little, but she was still his, as she always had been. And he could feel her. Smell her. He could be with her now. He stood before he knew what he fully planned to do, and when he turned, she too blinked in anticipation. The warrior managed to pick her up with worrisome ease, to hoist her over his shoulder so he could use his free hand to cast her cloak over the small dining table, then set her upon it.

She huddled inside his tunic, surprised, but trusting, and he sat in the chair, drawing her close so that her small feet rest on either side his thighs and her pointed body slid itself into his arms. She so easily folded into him, and he lifted her face with gentle kisses along her jaw and then her throat. He mapped the lines of her legs with his hands, tracing lines from feet to thighs, ever climbing higher. When she finally relinquished her lips to him, he kissed her slowly, taking special care to do all the things that once made her lightheaded.

He distracted her from the fingertips tracing her new marks as well, slipping his hands between cloth and skin. When he spent too much time on a new, deep scar in the flesh of her hip, she squirmed in discomfort.

"Does it hurt?" He breathed against her lips before kissing her again.

"I don't care."

"I do." Still, he moved on and squeezed the muscle of her rear with both hands til she mewled in a much more delicious way. "You're not going to tell me?"

His lips returned to her neck, where he knew she would be weaker to him. A few tentative nibbles and soothing kisses, and she slowly rolled herself against him. "I don't want to think about it. I don't want to remember. Any of it. Right now." Her words came like her thoughts, in pieces, cut into easier-to-digest bites. It was as good as a surrender.

"If you want, I'll make you forget your name." His fingers found purchase on edge of her shorts and began to tug. His lover squirmed but, voluntarily or not, lifted her hips for his shifting hands.

"Alistair, what are you..?"

"Being grateful."

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 **ATTN READERS: Chapter TWO is purely lemon (Rated M) territory. If that is not your bag, I am not offended. Please go ahead and SKIP Chapter Two and head straight to Chapter THREE, where the story will pick up the next morning. You'll miss nothing pertinent to the story, not even dialogue. ;) Please enjoy!**


	2. Chapter 2

**This is your last chance. If Mature (M) rated sexual content is not your thing, please SKIP this chapter and head directly to chapter THREE, where we continue the story in the morning light of semi-decency.**

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 **At the Border (and In-Between)**

 **II**

Alistair watched his own hands, and the slow reveal of skin as he removed the shorts and smallclothes from under the massive top she still wore. Alistair felt shakier than he'd planned, but the soft gasp that came with rare air contact focused him back into control.

He flicked his eyes up to hers, seeing a small light behind her heavily lidded orbs. She leaned back on her elbows, mesmerized by his steadiness, and it gave him incentive to take his time.

He wouldn't neglect her precious legs again. Or take her hips, her stomach, all the way to the tip of her ears, for granted. He learned this new body with thorough, explorative pets. Alistair steadily applied pressure, massaging into her wherever he touched until her head fell back on her shoulders and her back arched for him. He loved that little arc. He happily raced fingers down her spine until she shivered. At another time he might've yanked her to the table's edge, shed his trousers unceremoniously and buried himself where he knew he belonged. Instead, he gently cradled her hips in his grip and led her close. Slowly, sweetly, keeping her gaze when she could manage.

Alistair ran a hand over the front of their shirt, against her sternum, and gently pushed her to lay back. Her eyes darkened headily when she complied. Once submitted, she took little guidance. A delicate brush of three fingers under her calf coaxed one of her legs to his shoulder where he wanted, and he trailed his lips inside her knee.

Such a small little place, and a light little kiss, and yet, he watched the effects ripple out from her chest as she sighed pleasantly. As his next kiss grew just a little higher, he found he'd already taken control of her breathing, which seemed to stop altogether for the second or two his lips touched her skin.

Her other leg hitched itself against him and he felt himself being pulled closer. It was hard to resist. He would willingly fall into her if he weren't so set on making things better for _her_.

The lower hem of his shirt rode up over her thighs, her sex peeking out at him whenever he dared let his eyes wander between kisses. It caused an immediate strain in his pants. But this wasn't their first time, and he was now far from being a virgin.

He began pushing the linen up, over narrow stomach and nearly flat chest, and she raised her arms for him. When she lay back, she seemed less lost, her eyes sharp again, and he realized she was nervous.

They both knew she looked different. Maybe he did, as well. He kept his rough hands petting her now naked form, afraid she'd interpret any lull as disinterest. He needed her to be comfortable with him, needed to give them time to recognize each other.

He found the scars on her he remembered most; the arrows she had taken in the Tower of Ishal the night they met. The night he lost Duncan, and nearly lost her, before he'd even known what she'd come to mean to him.

He let her leg fall from his shoulder, and carefully leaned over her to press kisses to the scar tissue, feeling the comfort of her fingers clutching him close by his scalp. He lifted her off the table and hugged her to him for a brief moment, needing to feel her nude body against his bare chest before he continued.

He planted warm kisses down her front, relishing the taste of earth and wind on her flesh. He was nearly as excited as she when his mouth finally found the apex of her thighs, taking less time to tease her than he might have on a different day. Now he needed her to feel lost, and the sudden gasp of surprise and delight rewarded his focus. Alistair wrestled the chair behind him with his foot to give himself a better position, then crossed a muscled arm across her lower abdomen. He held her firmly in place as his tongue wriggled its way between her folds to lonely depths. Immediately she bucked into his forearm, and gripped his wrist for sanity.

Both arms now keeping her thoroughly secured, pressed harder with his tongue, slipping it along the edges of her waiting core. Prodding, poking, and teasing at the entrance until her uneven breath morphed to pants.

Such soft coos and whimpers she gave each time he touched her. She always seemed so delicate at first... until they were an hour in and a sweaty mess, but oh, how he loved undoing her to that point.

She whined again, as he flattened his tongue deep into her flesh and dragged it from bottom, to top, pausing to swirl around her little bud.

" _Oh Gods, Alistair..."_

Heat pooled in his groin at the desperate sound in her feminine voice. It was the kind of noise he wanted to make her repeat over and over until she was shouting it.

With renewed vigor, he all but latched his firm lips around sensitive nerves, delighting in how he could make her mewl with every swipe of his tongue. Her tiny frame struggled helplessly under the pleasure, but it was easier than usual to overpower her. He effortlessly commanded her body into place, sliding both hands now to her hips and ass so he could literally pull her onto his mouth. His lips on her clit were replaced by the bump of his nose as his mouth moved on to assault her from inside.

Her lips finally parted as strangled cries broke free in time with his tongue as it thrust into her with purpose. He fought another swell of emotion. Frail or not, this was familiar. Her scent, her _taste_ , as familiar as breathing, was like finding his way home. He grew ten years younger, boldly daring her to cry out loud enough for the whole camp to hear, and learn she was his.

Now he drank from her greedily, _knowing_ she was his, but it did nothing to stifle the potency of pride he got from pleasuring her so.

"Alistair...!" She gasped his name as his tongue pressed wider inside her, spreading her open a little further for his devouring mouth. With a short growl he buried his face into her mercilessly, forcing the air out of her. He smirked into her flesh, vaguely recalling a conversation in which he claimed to be raised by dogs. It was before she'd become... his chew toy.

"Alistair, Love!" She cried out again as a large finger probed at her alongside his tongue. He hooked his finger within her, knowing now just where and how much pressure to apply as he worked his lips and tongue against her. Her breathing grew rampant, and he eased his finger in and out a little harder. Usually he raced into adding the next finger, knowing her small elven body needed the warm up to take him completely, but he took his time, relishing in every drawn out, shaking rasp that came with his touch.

Alistair watched her chest heave, he felt her thighs shake, and he deemed his effort well worth it. She was so beautiful like this. So raw and true, a realness only he shared with her.

He moaned into her as one of her feet determinedly snuck its way to the front of his pants to rub in retribution at his stiff, if trapped, groin. It felt wonderful, and yet too terribly distracting all at once. He caught her ankle, and she whimpered as he then pushed her legs further apart and renewed his attack to the rise of fresh moans.

"Damn it, woman," he murmured into her as his cock throbbed for more attention.

"Alistair, I want you..!" Her anxious growl caused a gratified murr in his chest.

"You can have me when I'm done."

He finally added a second finger. He felt his pulse through his lap at how tightly her body clung around his battleworn digits. It still did not equal to his girth, but would make his entrance easier for her.

She wantonly let her breathing shallow, unafraid in their deep isolation of who could possibly hear them. Out here in the uncharted border wilds, they were just another couple of animals rutting.

Her hips began to quake, and she rocked herself mindlessly against him. When she began to tug her own hair he knew he had her. Flexing his fingers and his tongue, he picked up the pace, began to spread them inside her, and returned his dexterous lips and tongue to her clit. It all paid off as she shattered only a minute after, too delirious with pleasure to complain about his stubbornness.

"Mmm, good woman," he praised as he stood to loom over her trembling body. His fingers still stroked her, but only from the outside. He hoped to soothe her, and to silently signal he wasn't finished with her yet.

He drank in the sight of her, unabashedly, splayed as she was over the table, bare and basking. He felt his way back up her legs, over her stomach and chest. A small quirk of a smirk found its way to the edge of his lips when he caught her wild eyes staring at the flexing muscle of pecs and shoulders that moved with each rub. He gave her a few moments like that, until she descended into a languid purr.

Alistair began undoing his belt buckle and her eyes went wide again in excitement. He resisted the need to move faster, and instead stripped the rest of the way in calculated motions. He could nearly feel her stare as much as her hands, raking over his stomach and thighs, and everywhere in between, her small lips slightly parted, whether she were aware or not.

The removal of friction against his cock urged him forward, simultaneous relieved and longing for more. Alistair slid his hands and arms up his wife's sides to her back, then hoisted her up against him. Dainty legs hooked behind him, and once she felt secure, he lifted her with him and took her to the bed.

He grunted unintentionally as his tip poked against the back of her thigh and rear along the way, trying to ignore the pleasant sensation of leaving dew drops behind.

"Maker," he finally muttered as he set her on the bed. He quickly followed after, and smiled as her arms instantly sought places to hold him as he leaned over her.

His "plan" deteriorated further with every moment. As they drew closer, he prepared to surrender himself to whatever would happened when he could no longer think.

She looked almost too small, huddled under him. But every time he found her eyes again she looked all the wild beauty he'd fallen in love with, and he always fell again. He kept his attention on that heady gaze as he gently parted her open with a careful hand, and pressed himself against her.

He always wondered if the weight of him against her small core concerned her. In all their years, he still felt a pang of concern at the beginning of each encounter. Their size difference had made their first time... achingly slow. And now he became especially afraid to hurt her.

But at the mere contact with her opening she arched for him, a delicious, thrilled gasp tore from her throat, and he didn't have it in him to let such a perfect moment pass. He angled himself, and slipped just the round head inside until her spine nearly lit up for him.

" _Oh Gods, fuck_!"

The precious sound of his fellow Warden cursing in pleasure made his sensitive tip throb within her. It had been so long, and he could always remember how she felt. Yet, the temperature seemed so much hotter than he'd recalled. Being inside her body had always been a tight, gasping hug. But the burning heat nearly suffocated now.

"Are you alright?" His hips yearned for motion, his chest ached for air, but he had to ask.

"I will be once you get where you belong." She gave another strangled moan as her body began to give way for him, and with slow, shallow motions, he began to sink deeper.

The sensation sent his head spinning. History and Future both melted away to this moment, and the joining of their bodies. As always, he began to sense himself running out of room before he were fully sheathed inside, and he wrapped a large hand along the outside of one of her thighs to tug her onto him the last inch. She cried out, gasping for air at the fullness, and he quickly committed it to memory as one of the single most erotic moments of their time together.

He held her there, feeling her insides choke and flex around his aching cock, watching her nearly dissolve into whimpers beneath him while her fingers sloppily clawed at him for purchase.

"Love." He lean up just enough to get a hand to her cheek to guide her back to him. "You're mine. I'm right here. And you belong to me."

Refocused, if hazy with heat, she nodded, and turned to capture his thumb between her lips.

It was then he carefully drew himself halfway from her and slid back in.

He started slow. He took his time to see how every inch of flesh-friction between them sent shockwaves through her body. As snug a fit as they were, every little shift in motion reflected in the arc of her form and the part of her lips. Words failed him as his senses took over. He felt her squeeze him, was mesmerized by the visual of himself disappearing inside her at their loins, and overwhelmed by the deliciously sexy sound of her wordless voice.

With a mangled moan he spread his palm over her stomach, holding her down as he drove himself inside her again. If he pressed just deep enough into her body, he could feel her move around his prick each time it delved inside her, and oh how that always made him crazy.

As the tension in his stomach began to escalate, he barely caught himself before he lost control. A single second gave him enough time to remember she wasn't as sturdy and solid as she once was, and Alistair had to really work to not grip her too hard.

The fingers that usually groped, and dug into her flesh now only caressed. As he began to move harder, a little faster, it became more difficult to not hold her in place, and he slowed again.

"Alistair," she mewled, a small hand finding his cheek. "You're not going to break me..." Her lower lip twitched with her breath, and her legs found their way around him to make her point.

"You need to be careful..." he didn't cease his motions, however. He wasn't certain he could. She was slick now, and it narrowed his vision.

"What I need is to still be able to see your fingerprints next week when I miss you."

That did it. It was too much honesty at too vulnerable a time, and he snapped. Alistair scooped her up in his arms, and flipped her over.

She scrambled to her knees, but he curled his fingers over her shoulder and held her upperbody to the mattress. Any remaining worry melted with her pleased growl, and he immediately descended on her with renewed vigor. His cock slid between her hind cheeks in the movement and earned a shudder. His lips at the tip of her ear earned another. He extended his arm beneath her to rub at her waiting pussy from underneath, giving her no place to go but against him. Her sporadic breaths beat through her back and against his chest as he pant into her ear.

He couldn't resist longer than that, however, and hungrily leaned back to guide himself into her gripping heat.

"Mmm, that's it..!" She crowed, clutching the blankets, and he braced her in place with a hand on her shoulder and one on her hip.

His thought processes evaporated as he slipped deeper still, and he recklessly began invading her body with great ferocity. He couldn't think to check on her anymore, but the animalistic pleas and whimpers that tumbled endlessly from her lips goaded him on.

He was only mildly aware of the wooden bedframe straining with them, its sound easily drowned out by their crashing bodies and rising voices.

"Oh Alistair, please...!"

He pitched his hips forward as he bent over her once more. The hand from her shoulder slid up under her neck, and he kept his palm there as his fingers stretched to the edge of her jaw and ear on the other side. He kept her face and head cradled that way as he continued ravishing her anew.

"What, my pet?" What is it you want?" He nearly growled into ear and she shuddered again, violently.

"Don't stop, Alistair please..." She lustily turned to take his thumb again, and this time sucked in earnest with a muffled whimper.

He knew now neither would last much longer, and withdrew his thumb with a reluctant popping sound. There was still something she needed.

He palmed her asscheeks in each of his hands, spread them, kneaded them, before he gripped them so rough she shouted into the mattress. He watched his trained fingers dig into her flesh, seeking muscle that would bruise for him just how she needed. He kept himself working in and out of her, now well-slicked and adjusted, and he kept his thrusts sharp, but his hands, he let wander...

He left her trails to map later. Prints on the front of her thighs, then the back. Into her hips, her shoulders. He squeezed harder than he would have normally dared, as each time she gave a resounding 'yes' of approval.

She began shaking again, and he felt it deep in her walls as they clung to him. He knew his own volume was getting away from him as well now, losing his own battle.

 _Just one more thing_.

With ravenous hunger, he bit at the junction of her neck, and then sealed his lips fiercely to wound, tongue swirling. He held her in every way he could, in his arms, under his mouth, and took her over until she broke, crying his name and convulsing tightly around his dick.

Incredibly intense spasms started through her body around his base and shot up to tip, pulling and milking him beyond what should ever be considered fair, as he felt himself wrenched, involuntarily, over the edge with her.

He buried his feral growl of completion into her shoulder, twitching as he felt warmth course through him and into her.

For the next minute, neither moved. A heaving, recovering, tangled mess. When they did speak again, it was only a pathetic mewl when he finally withdrew himself and lay next to her. He gathered her up in his arms, and she cooed fitfully.

He checked the mark he'd left on her neck. It didn't look too painful, but hopefully would last a few days anyway.

Almost every part of him yearned for a nice long rest at her side. He still felt battle-weary, but satisfied, and the combination proved intoxicating. He watched her eyes flutter closed, but her small fingers played with his hand idly, and he wondered if she was fighting fatigue as much as he.

Alistair drawled a low hum of a melody they'd heard in a tavern somewhere in Orzammar. His Dwarven impersonation nearly as awful as his singing, but it always made her laugh. Now, even just the tune made her lips lift in a smile. For the thousandth time, he felt more happy than he felt he had any right being.

* * *

 **Ahem. Water anyone?**


	3. Chapter 3

**At the Border (and In-Between)**

 **III**

Alistair was a little relieved when he woke to find darkness still outside the single window to the cabin. A deep blue indicated hours before sunrise. He found himself glad he didn't have to face the usual disappointment of feeling like he'd slept half their precious time away. A drifting snore sprouted behind him and he carefully turned.

He knew he'd find her, as he always did, huddled up close against his back. Rotating to her, he carefully craned an arm over her head to draw back a few rebellious strands of hair. She didn't stir, and he was cautious not to wake her. He allowed himself the selfish pleasure of watching her sleep for a few minutes, finally able to catch every single wrinkle and line that hadn't been there before. But in her peace, she proved still unmistakably recognizable. Not as the Hero of Ferelden... _but her_.

He monitored her breathing, watched the gentle rise and fall of her chest as her war-weary body bowed into the mattress along her side. He contested with himself for quite some time about whether he could tear himself from her. He wanted to be there when she first opened her eyes, but if he waited to fetch breakfast, he'd risk using her waking hours instead of her unconscious ones.

With a scowl, he decided, and bent to kiss her hairline softly before slipping out of their nest. He dressed quickly in his trousers, and the discarded shirt by the table, but left his loud armor behind. If she did wake, at least she'd know he hadn't left.

He did have to maneuver his tool bag to retrieve it silently and carry it with him through the exit.

He closed the door as lightly as he could, and tread into the dark wee-morning hours. He moved quick, quiet, through the mossy oaks, searching for a good spot. Eventually he found a downed log, large and long-hallowed, and set up his kit just inside one end. His fingers had once been clumsy with traps. He still had a couple scars from a premature clamp of metal teeth. Now he was precise, even on auto-pilot, as muscle memory took over.

After a few brief moments, and the placement of the last of the cooked carrots he'd pilfered from their meal, he wandered off a good sixty yards, and found a relatively dry place to sit along the end of the treeline. The morning dew still clung to the fabric of his clothes and chilled his skin, but he knew it was temporary.

He found a view of a small meadow on the other side of the trees, where he could watch the fog begin to form over the grass blades. With steady breath, he watched the mist discolor as the sun grew closer to the horizon. In such an unpopulated area, at such a perfect time, he knew he wouldn't need to wait long. An hour. Maybe more.

But he needed the time. To pretend time had stopped. They only ever got one night together. And it was over. Everything now lead up to their next parting.

 _When I'm done here, I'll be with my love again. For good this time._ The moment he'd said those words to the Inquisitor, it felt... like denial. But he couldn't face another option; still couldn't.

He'd feared his lineage would dictate his life since he were old enough to understand what a bastard even was. Becoming a Warden had nearly freed him, and then finally did at the Landsmeet, able as he was to publicly renounce any chance of being dragged into that life. But then... to be the most senior Warden in a country of so few. And more recently, the most senior ranking Warden in Southern Thedas. It was a mantle he'd risen to without regard to the weight. And now, like being a Theirin before, it commanded him.

A sharp snap ricocheted between the trees from the direction his setup, and he swallowed as time ticked over again.

* * *

She remained unmoved when he creaked the door open to peak inside. With a subtle smile he stepped through, leaving the hare he claimed as a prize outside. He started the fire in the hearth back up, then returned into the morning to clean breakfast. He eagerly worked, wanting her to rouse to the smells of crackling fat and meat. With a hooked knife, he skinned and gutted the rabbit, then set about breaking the meat down to smaller pieces so they'd cook faster.

He gathered the spare parts and fur for use later, and skewered the muscle for over the hearth. Dawn began to rise in a rosy glow by the time he was ready to return to the cabin.

Alistair's luck held. He got the door to close again, and while she shifted in her sleep, her lids remained firmly closed. He slipped his boots off and padded his way to the fire, adjusting and arranging until the meat poked over the flame just so. As long as he remembered to rotate his makeshift tools every once in awhile, they'd be fine.

It was too much to hope she'd sleep until it was done. The smell hadn't even risen from the meat yet when her eyes slowly slid open and sought him.

"Hey." He hauled himself from where he sat working the sticks, and came to her side for a good morning kiss.

"Mmm, hello to you, too." A sleepy smile spread across her cheeks. So perfectly content at the moment.

It proved infectious, and he smiled into another kiss, holding her head close with a large hand as his thumb traced the forward edge of her ear.

"Have sweet dreams?"

"No dreams," she replied groggily, her eyes slipping closed again for a few moments. "For the first time in a long time. I slept so deep."

"Good."

Eventually the Warden-Commander searched the room, eyes falling on his clothed body, and his gear set against the fireplace. He knew she didn't need to sit up to put it together.

"Mm, you left?"

"As briefly as I could." He chuckled and found one of her hands to kiss her knuckles.

"Alistair..." She whispered his name, and edged nearer. Instinctively his arms found their way around her, even at the awkward angle, he managed a hug.

"Want to keep me company while I manage breakfast?"

She nodded, and he tucked the blankets around her in a cocoon until she laughed in her throat, and he took her with him. He deposited her into the chair with a chaste kiss and went back to his spot on the floor to twirl skewers between his fingers.

Again, the familiar heat of her sight set on him lined his skin as much as the amber light of the fire. Moments passed, but he knew it was only a matter of time before-

"Are we gonna talk? About... anything?" She anxiously tucked hair behind her ear. What loose style she'd had it in last night long destroyed.

Guilt pooled in his stomach. "I got the impression you didn't want to."

"I... don't want to scare you."

"Nor I, you."

Their eyes met, and his lips formed into a thin line. The crackle of fat dripping onto embers and sizzling away pulled them from their reverie, and he snapped back to shifting meat. His woman readjusted the sheet tucked under arms and around her.

"Can... we talk around it?"

"How?" He set his elbow atop a knee patiently.

The Mistress Warden eyed his weapons off to the side, and the few clanged out dents in his armor.

"So," she started, "you met the Inquisitor."

He huffed, amused and saddened at the same time. "Oh yeah. She's... capable. But... she wasn't the most interesting person I ran into there."

An elegant brow lifted, and his lover crossed her arms under her chest as she listened.

"Our Leliana practically founded the thing with the Right Hand, and still serves near the head. I also ran into that Templar we rescued in the Tower..." He drifted. "And Morrigan."

"What?" She instantly gasped a stressed response. They hadn't muttered the woman's name for years. "She's..."

"Yeah, helping the Inquisition."

He let her process. He himself had needed some time to do so after he learned of the witch's presence in the same hold as he.

"Did she- I mean, did you see- did she have...?" Words sputtered in pitiful failure. But he knew what she needed to know.

"Yeah. A son."

"You met him?!"

Her brows knit together at her tone. Was she upset, or full of wonder? Too much emotion dripped her words and she retreated back into her seat a little at his expression.

"Um... Only from a distance. I got the impression if I spoke to him, he'd somehow know."

"I thought she never planned to tell him."

"She didn't. She hasn't told anyone. I just don't think it would matter. He's... different."

Small hands absently wrung together, and stress pooled under glossy eyes. "Is it.. something we need to worry about?"

Alistair hummed thoughtfully, prodding once more at the fire. "I don't think so. She's... different, too."

He barely caught a glimpse of his love blinking away tears and stubbornly swiping them away. She looked so sullen when he tossed her a concerned scowl.

"I don't regret anything. It just... doesn't seem fair does it?"

He sighed, and abandoned his post. She fell into place at his chest once he knelt before her.

"Does it bother you?" She finally asked when he found no words of comfort.

"That I have a child by a woman I'm barely cordial with, and I can't with the love of my life? Of course. But it's not the boy's fault. And whatever her motives, Morrigan is the reason we're both still here."

"Her _intentions_ for the ritual honestly never really bugged me as much as..."

"It was years ago now." He stroked her hair calmly. "I only bring it up because she asked after you."

"You spoke?"

"Tersely, in the open. She knew better than to ask to get in touch with you. But... she cared enough to ask."

Alistair never approved of the volatile friendship his fellow Warden had crafted with the apostate. But in the Fifth Blight, he'd had no right to deny her allies where she felt she could find them. And for a time, Morrigan did willingly shed blood at their side.

The small woman cuddled against him didn't respond further, so he gently squeezed. "Would you believe our Leliana is in contention for the Golden Throne?"

"Really? To be Divine?"

"Mmhm," he beamed. "It appears we have friends in high places, these days."

"Yeah, her and Hawke; they're each practically a storm upon themselves."

The elf laughed it off, but the human faltered at the name. "Yeah..."

He couldn't tell her without telling her everything. But now that she had touched on it, was he officially hiding something from her?

"Hawke was a better friend than I gave her credit for."

"Was?" His love made no move to end their cuddle.

"She... found a calling of her own, as it were. She's either got a long fight ahead of her, or..."

"Oh..." He felt fingers along his spine over his shirt. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Not many have heard yet, so-"

"I won't tell anyone." She easily finished.

 _Well done_ , Alistair thought to himself. Perhaps he wasn't totally without tact.

Finally, he detangled himself, though it was hard to leave her side completely. "Come on, let's get you fed. I want to make sure you're eating, at least while you're with me."

He recovered the fresh meal from the fireplace and offered a stick of brown, juicing rabbit meat to her, which she took from where she sat. But her eyes avoided his after his comment.

"It's not a lack of access to food, Alistair," she defended. "Just time."

The hallows of her throat and shoulders were starting to protrude. Just a little, but it was enough to find her excuses feeble.

"Is it really _so_ pressing and dangerous you don't have time _eat_?" He didn't mean to sound annoyed.

"Yes!"

They both paused then, regarding each other with pained expressions.

She crumpled first, sagging her seat and all but dropping her picked-at meal in her lap. "I'm sorry, Alistair. It's just..."

He saved her skewer, setting it carefully on the bed stool behind her, and returned to wrap her up in his arms again.

"Stress, I know."

After years of giving everything to the Wardens, they only wanted the chance to have a life together. For life to so consistently and constantly threaten that felt like a war they were winning, but they were exhausted. Each time he touched her now, he worked harder to commit the feeling to memory. In the dread that inevitably, this, or the next hundredth time, would be the last. Even now he squeezed her, but convinced himself it was for her benefit, not his. That he'd hold her again after today.

"You're not coming with me, are you?" Tight words mumbled into linen-clad shoulder.

He'd hoped maybe she would have gleaned that without him having to declare it. _But..._ "No. I'm sorry."

He could almost feel her wince, and he sighed, his breath sweeping the planes of her back.

"I'd hoped... after the Breach and Corypheus was dealt with you would..."

"I know." His brows knit together and his eyes slid shut with regret. "But we may be the highest ranking Wardens outside of Weisshaupt now. I have to go, there _is_ no one else."

"Weisshaupt?" She breathed. He hated how it rattled through her chest. "That's... so far."

"I... if I, if we don't- it could be decades before there are Wardens in Orlais or Ferelden again. Perhaps in Thedas. What we learned... they have to know."

She went quiet for a long while. He'd dreaded this conversation, but like so many others, it proved beyond their control.

His forehead scrunched tentatively as he briefly touched her chin. "And you can't... are you close? Or can you spare the time to come with me?"

She slumped a little in his arms, eyes downcast to his chest. "Alistair... close or not, we don't know how long we have. We're losing time every day-"

"Yeah." He didn't want to hear it. "Yeah, I know..."

He clutched her bone-crushingly close and kissed her forehead.

"You know I'm coming back to you as soon as I can."

He nodded numbly, thumb brushing over her shoulder as he held her.

* * *

The truth was, it always ended too soon. They stretched out the next hour and a half or so as long as humanly possible. Moving slower than turtles, they dressed, and dismissed the near-overwhelming sadness as the armored shell they showed all others fell neatly back into place, submerging all vulnerability and heart back into their chests with the weight of an anvil.

Coal and embers sputtered and died. As gear was gathered, the door opening and closing danced ashes across the floor. They left no other evidence. Empty packages were collected, animal remnant properly cleaned and tacked away. The single blanket that remained property of the cabin left folded at the bed's foot.

Their last embrace, outside in the bright mid-morning, became suffocatingly tight as each tried to choke off the tears before they reached eyelids. Alistair held her as long as the world allowed, but it just kept spinning out of his control.

They said their 'I love you's and their 'I'll see you soon's a dozen times over. Each time, a caress, a stroke in the hair, another squeeze, tried to make it sound more convincing.

They took turns watching the other leave, and this was his. He remembered vividly every single time she walked away from him and he could not follow. He counted breaths, not the months until they might see one another again.

If he had to watch her body grow smaller as she tread away, he'd imagine the web of bruises he'd left her to find in the following days. Imagine the small smile that might grace her lips. The reminder that she was so desperately wanted and needed at _home_ , with him.

He stifled a sound in his throat when she finally disappeared behind the far brush, heading back into the West, into a danger from which he couldn't protect her. A hand covered his mouth as he fought the urge to be sick at how _wrong_ it felt...

Before he turned on his heel, and left the clearing toward the East, back into the glen, and into the hum of forest insects.

* * *

 **Whew! Okay, I'm going to be honest guys, I missed writing, but I still only really came back because I was so honored that after five years people are still reading my stuff! I'm so humbled, and more than anything, I wanted to thank you. So I hope you enjoyed it!**

 **Also, if you live in Biowareland with me, keep your eyes open the next week or so, as I take a moment to brush on Mass Effect: Andromeda. How could I not? ;)**

 **Please drop a review to let me know which Bioware Universe you'd like to see more of!**


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